


wildlife aid but weird

by birdboy



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life
Genre: Alien Biology, Descriptions of Dissociation, M/M, Mention of Surgery, late anni post hAHa, sigh. i know, sry for being frenrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdboy/pseuds/birdboy
Summary: Gordon Freeman picks up all his things after that Black Mesa job and allows life to happen at him. Turns out he creates love along the way.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	wildlife aid but weird

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) i dunno if i should but i post this (bcos the site) but ya where else it go.

Gordon could count his leftover assets on his one hand. He had a handful of new allies--friends even--his house, still, and a whole ass new point of view on...life, the universe, and pretty much everything. Despite how it sounds, these were optimistic thoughts. These were his tools to build himself back up. 

His life so far had featured this strange momentum. He had to...to prove himself or do everything a person had to do and he couldn't hit the brakes, not even slow down, because he'd stop. He'd stop and be dead. Because of that, he was going so fast, and like tripping in a marathon, the Resonance Cascade happened. More than that, you know the rest, some shit happened and it was a lot for one human dude. 

That was ultimately what got him to stop. 

A switch was flipped inside him. Stuff that would freak him out didn't anymore, not in an apathetic sort of way, more like…the marathon didn't matter anymore, he was alive and that was enough. He was alive, and he had the means to take care of himself and he had people to love. You could imagine, shit like what HR might think if they saw him come in late, or some relative making an embarrassing comment on his socials just didn't fuckin' matter. Gordon just felt a small bliss in being alive, still, calm and that was that.

He wasn't always still, though, and being alive wasn't easy all the time. That whole Rube-Goldburg event referenced above that was a lot for any human, too much for him, still sat in him like a sharp rock in your shoe, one you couldn't shake out, it hurt and it wore at him, and it could be huge and paralyzing some days and just small and irritating others. That's why he needed to build. He took help as he needed it, even asked for it sometimes too, as hard as that was, and he made noise. He sang at the top of his lungs to lyrics he knew, cleaning up a little while after a meal, or something, drowning out the sound of whatever speaker the song came out of, just for the joy of it. He hoed up a neglected garden, churning weeds up and under the earth, taking long and refreshing swigs of water as it ultimately poured off him as sweat, admiring his widening plot of healthy dark soil. Stuff like that. Even pressing buttons at a screen with his personal running commentary was nice, light-heartedly raising his voice as he died--again.

It all could be normal, like Coomer says, he could be normal and mundane, not in a bad way, and he knew he'd be okay. Even if a bit lonely at times--he'd like a cat but he's way too allergic, maybe a dog or something, especially for the rare days when he had overflowing energy.

The unconventional answer to that idle thought came to him at the side of the road one day. Driving down his familiar country road home, windows open feeling the comfortable rush of air and tapping on the navy exterior with a lazy hand out the window, he heard something uncomfortably familiar. The source caught his eye in a field filled with clover crop, sickly yellow among the green and sun reflecting off too many eyes.

He hit the breaks.

He had to stop and pullover on the gravel roadside, to get out of the car to look at it. A peeper puppy? Holy shit. The thing just rustled hopelessly through the field on three legs, some distance away, wailing to nothing, making the plants sway and vibrate with the sonic power the little guy had. It was mournful. He remembered the same feeling of sympathy, not about plowing through them as they hurt him and his friends, but when one was trapped and began to whine uncannily like a dog. This wasn't as cute, this wasn't a whimper, this was a cry. Guess they were pack animals--aliens.

Gordon felt a rising sense of duty in his chest, being one of the few who knew what the creature was, and that sense of sympathy towards it. He considered that obviously Xen aliens may not even be able to live on Earth, for a myriad of reasons, and it'd have to go. But it was a living thing too, so he could make an effort and snatched some earplugs out of his glove compartment (You never know. Might be a surprise concert or need to sleep through noise.) and hopped the short fence, sneakers landing in the soft clover. He was going to nab that puppy.

He had no plan for this course of action and felt himself slip into a weird concentration as he slowly made his way, trespassing, through the field. The Peeper Puppy froze, all its eyes on him. He slowed…showing both palms to appear non threatening. He began to chatter like approaching any stray, cooing out, "C'mere, I won't hurt you, it's okay, it's alright little buddy," when the thing began to make that sound like a generator starting up, and Gordon knew from experience to get back, get back, he knew this wouldn't be that easy, and it attacked, tearing up some of the plants near it's weird legs. It was clearly easier to deal with than a pack, but Gordon switched his strategy, dropping into a squat to stop towering over it and compelling it closer like 'pspspsps' to a cat. Nevermind how ridiculous he felt. The thing chirped softly, almost curiously. "That's it," he said in a low voice, "Come here…" It inched closer, making some internal calculation of friend or foe, and Gordon offered a palm.

He stay like that for a few moments--or minutes, long enough that the Peeper Puppy relaxed and Gordon's thighs burned in his squat, he asked as a formality, "Can I pick you up?" He moved an arm towards it, slowly and carefully, it only hits him how very fucking dangerous this is when his hands wrap around the thing's middle, under it's two front legs and stills, waiting to get cooked by another sonic power, but it was frozen, too, both of them locked in a silent competition to which creature was most deadly. The answer was neither of them, he thought, so he patted it so very gently where his hand already was, cooing again. He lifted the thing so carefully, and survived.

Now he had a fresh rip in his pants from getting caught on the fence and an alien in his backseat, scurrying on three legs and peeping out the car windows. He sighed in relief and success, slipping his phone out of his back pocket, tapping until it lit up with 'calling Tommy Coolatta.'

"Hello?" came the answer, the way Tommy always answered the phone. Thank god.

"Hey, Tommy, it's me, do you have a minute?"

"Of course, Mr Freeman!" Gordon smiled a little, leaning against the car and explaining his weird ass situation. Probably too calmly.

There was a pause long enough to make Gordon want to check if his phone was dead, then, "What the fuck, Mr Freeman." Tommy sounded disappointed and the reply was so unexpected, he bit back a laugh. He went on, "That was--that could've been so dangerous, what if you got bit or something?"

He faltered for half a moment, "I-I'm aware! But what's done is done, I guess," Gordon said, "I was just wondering if you knew anything? Like, it's in my car, it's not gonna fuckin' explode or anything, right?"

"I think it should be fine if it's gotten... this far, Gordon, are you gonna take it home like a stray?" He says, and Gordon could almost see his brows furrow on the other end, maybe a half-fond half-exasperated shake of the head.

"That's the plan…I think it'd be better than free roaming around, someone who didn't know better could get hurt, right? Or it could, too."

Tommy's sigh crackled into the mic. "Yeah, you're, you're right, just be careful. I'll see what I can find out about them, okay?"

"Thanks, Tommy. Didn't mean to scare you, man."

"It's okay."

"I'll talk to you later, gotta drive back," he says, glancing back at the alien. 

"Text me when you get back, bye Mr Freeman!" He hung up and slipped back in the car, taking a moment to process and sip at a water bottle, turning around fully to observe the much calmer creature in his back seat. He'd get going in a second, but...

How exactly do you bite, though?

A day later, Tommy was at his door with a hefty stack of papers and a look of cautious curiosity on his face. The confidential Black Mesa stamped papers titled 'Houndeye' and looked very boring and filled with black-and-white images of every single part of the creature. Totally looking forward to scanning this for the 'what do they eat' and 'how do they tick' parts. Black Mesa was gone now, no more mesa just flatlands, and whatever questions they had was carefully stripped from Darnold's pilfered and repaired laptop, from behind the long broken encryption of his security level. Now even Gordon had the print outs. Tommy followed him through his house to the back field where the “Houndeye'' was running around, making weird yipping squeaks and occasionally tumbling down onto the grass. It turned it’s many eyes over to the two men, acknowledging them with a sound, and went on it’s business. “It’s extremely uncanny to just a...dog, isn’t it?” Gordon says. “I guess it’s fitting that the Science Team and Mesa both called it dog-aligned things.”

“It hasn’t--hasn’t tried to hurt you since what you told me the... yesterday?” Tommy says, leaning against the door frame, observing.

"Nah, I've been careful. It seems more interested in like... company than violence." Gordon sat down on a rickety porch chair and the Peeper Puppy waddled up to his side and plopped down, tucking it's tripod legs underneath itself. Gordon looked up at Tommy poignantly. He was going to ask that question. Well, a similar question. "Should I keep it...?"

Tommy shrugged, crossing his arms, and said "If you're confident that you won't get--won't be hurt by it I don't see why not. I haven't read all of that... the Mesa document on--on the creature, though."

"Yeah, I'll read that ASAP," he says it like eh-sap, "I'm pretty sure...it should be fine. It's like picking up a stray, yknow?"

And that was that. He didn't need Tommy's particular permission but he respected him enough to want it. The man knew--memorized a lot about Black Mesa and whatever was (previously) available to him to read about the place. Also, Xenobiology. A valuable friend to have around in moments like these. Or at all, goddamn it, he loved Tommy for being who he is.

So Gordon had a new housemate. The rearing of which was going great. He needed a name, probably, and quickly brought up and shot down after naming it after his kid who was halfway across the country, but pondered about others. He figured out it ate mostly carnivorous, but also seemed fine after it stole a piece of banana that Gordon butterfingered. It's mouth was closer to where a traditional tummy was, which made sense considering it's rotund shape, and it was vocal. Whines, and high pitched yelps and hums and excited 'vrrp vrrp vrrps!' before a meal. Everything except the powering up sound heard before an attack, thankfully. And Gordon was comfortable in the fact that his life would be unconventional, all the way down to his pet.

He nudged the screen door open with a foot, blinking in the sun to watch over Bumper (Another work in progress name) was inspecting the foliage around his back yard and making sounds that could be considered a howl. He hummed back, idly taking in the warm sun and being thankful that his neighbors were far, far out of earshot.

When he looked over again, a Houndeye popped out of the bushes. He got that same feeling from the side of the road, almost dropping his mug of coffee.

There were...two of them!

"HUH?" Gordon said in pure disbelief. "Fuckin...Huh?" The now two peepers bumped against each other and vibrated in what seemed like sheer delight. You could just tell the difference between them in the stripes across their backs and his own trotted over to him with all it's eyes held high. Gordon blinked, looking down at the Houndeye at his feet, and burst out laughing. Whole ass full body laughter at the situation, the little proud alien dog trotting towards had him bent over with it. "You made a friend, huh?" he said, patting Bumper above the eyes. The other one made it's way over, cautiously. If this were a regular dog he’d probably just read the tags or microchip but, it’s not, and if these creatures belonged together, who is Gordon to deny it?

Which meant there were more, then, a bit of consequence, of breach from the ResCas and their grand adventure spilling out into earth. A few stray aliens from the cracks of portals between here and Xen, and he’d already met two of them. He’s not saying he’s responsible for anything to do with the aftermath of that Black Mesa Blunder, but he kind of felt like it. Little bit. Logically he knew he’d been through enough, and many people he loved had said the same. He told the Science Team to keep an ear or an eye out for strange rumors, sightings, new cryptids, whatever. Whatever they did in shows or movies or D&D sessions. He said it was for his curiosity, but deep down it might have been a way to clean up after himself.

He didn't expect anything, the trouble usually came to him first, from experience. But there it was, some kind of strange attack reported on his local news, just something put on as noise, but the story had him urgently texting the rest of the science team to tune in to see if he wasn't overreacting. It was October after all. He clutched a fork from his lunch in his hand, transfixed by the broadcast until it passed, and checked his phone. There was a text from the one and only Dr. Coomer that just said ‘Perhaps we sho i ld yke a lloksee, Gordon!' Gordon knew him and his bad typing enough that he was pretty sure he meant 'should take a look-see,’ and that was one way to make sure.

A few days of planning in one chaotic group chat, a few calls, and Gordon was pulling up to a long-abandoned building which might be dangerous just for the infrastructure, and parking next to a Fiat and Tommy’s truck. The old team back together, waiting for him to step out of the car. They had a few moments of banter, before moving in a formation made from experience. The feeling of his guard going up in the empty, hollow building was familiar, as was the weight of the crowbar in his hand. The men flanked each other, listening for that warbling or screeching of a headcrab, or that bone chilling groaning of a not-quite-a-headcrab anymore. It was all merely a precaution, and a dangerous situation never stayed tense for long with the Science Team. They’d be in and out, just looking around.

Just as he’d thought, a scan around the building mentioned on the news, and the team hadn’t found anything, and relaxed. They began to pick their way back carefully, making idle comments as they avoided the middle of rooms and broken glass. It became more of a very weird boy’s night after a bit, until Gordon heard some tapping from above. He couldn’t get the team to pay attention quick enough before, confirming his suspicions, a headcrab leaped at them from above, spitting all the while. He barked and balked, these little guys always fucked with him, taking him by surprise and so damn small and agile he couldn’t get a hit in. Everybody protected their head, sending the assaulter to the ground, where it scurried at ground level to get up and away from stomping boots, when Bubby just kind of...bent over and picked it up.

The rest of the group cried out their various shouts and shrieks for fear of Bubby’s life, swearing and saying his name before they all realized at once that the headcrab was...pretty much rendered useless. All it’s limbs and pointy parts faced the ceiling, causing it to squirm and twist in Bubby’s hold in desperation, all the while it’s occupant remained just fine. “I never thought they were built for attacking people with hands that grabbed,” Bubby said, simply. Dr. Coomer congratulated him on saving them all from the beast, in that fun obtuse way he did, and Bubby made some comment back about congratulations being what he deserved. “If it’s alright, Harold, I’m taking this thing back with me.”

No one hid their astonishment, and no one dared reject the notion. Dr Coomer replied thoughtfully, “Well, that’s alright, Bubby. I suppose we’ll just have to be careful...” Gordon knew Bubby, and knew precisely how headstrong he was, and was willing himself to keep quiet despite his own head wanting him to speak out about all the ways something could go wrong with that idea. And then his own hypocrisy hit him. He had not one, but two previously dangerous anomalies at home right as they spoke. Furthermore, he was vaguely sure that Bubby was a bit more qualified than him to deal with said anomalies, from like, life experience and stuff.

They stayed a bit longer hoping to lure some like minded crabs, the one still in Bubby’s grasp gone limp with defeat after a little while, but no more excitement came, and the group grew bored. The outside night air felt more fresh with the absence of dust and Gordon overheard Coomer say “Ah, so that’s why you insisted on bringing a carrier with you.” He snorted. This was a good night out.

“I’ll fax it to you!” Tommy called over the top of his car, waving goodbye with a handful of car keys complete with rainbow coloured worm keychain. He had promised info from their very private Black Mesa wikipedia about these aliens, like Gordon had gotten the Houndeye files before. He would text the two older men in the morning, making sure they remained unharmed, trying to imagine how you would navigate the whole. Parasitic mouth monsters that could latch on--he didn’t think about it further. Instead, he checked with them often and trusted in their frequently displayed abilities.

Hey, maybe they could have an alien pet playdate one day. He doubted it sorely.

He was awoken by his phone buzzing by his face, a penance to a bad sleeping habit, and he picked it up without much thought. “Come get this,” Bubby said, irritation clear in his voice. Gordon was tired enough to wonder if he was the one missing something, and not the other man failing to provide any sort of context.

So he said, “Whuh?”

“Clearly, you’re so smart, alien expert, why don’t you come get this thing. It’s a pest.” It took an embarrassingly long time to link the other day’s events and Bubby’s alien pest. It was also noon, which was another rush of embarrassment. 

“Are you guys good over there, Bubby?” His voice was thick with sleep, and he sat up slowly, his long hair defying gravity and sticking up, somehow.

“We’re good!” Bubby shouted, blissfully far away from the receiver, like he was in the middle of just walking away. “BUT FREE TRIAL IS OVER, SUSAN’S GOTTA PAY IF SHE WANTS TO STAY LONGER,” his voice got even louder and also further away.

“Did you name the headcrab Susan?” Gordon said to no one. Eventually there was a shuffling on the other end, like someone picking up the phone again.

“Gordon?” It was Dr. Coomer, which made sense, they lived together, “Could you potentially take in our new friend? If that’s not too much?”

Gordon swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing a hair tie from the pile on his bedside table, and said, “Yeah, no problem,” though it might very well be a big problem, “I’ll be on my way soon.”

“Excellent! We’ll discuss it more when you’re here.” A day that started with a phone call from the ‘Boomers’ was always sure to be chaotic, picked up from the two like a cold, but Gordon could take it in stride, especially at this point and knowing them so well. He got himself ready and set off in his car.

When he was let into his boys place not long later, he looked around carefully. His eyes lay on the liberated creature, which to his surprise was just like, sitting there…on the cabinet, looking all settled down. He expected absolute shambles and turned his stomach to knots on the way here thinking about his friends sustaining injuries, but Bubby was sitting not so far away from the thing, looking extra grumpy. “Hello Gordon!” the Doctor answering the door said to him, as usual. “Come in.”

“Is everything okay?” He said, underwhelmed in a good way.

“Everything is fine, Gordon!” he leans in and lowers his voice as best as he can conspiritively, “It seems our Bubby overestimated his patience in dealing with an exotic pet.”

“Huh…I think it looks remarkably chill, personally.”

“Yes! It warmed up after a few meals, and the procedure.” Gordon’s head whipped around to look at Coomer.

“The what now.” He was looking directly into his eyes, now. 

“Well, we couldn’t let it just persist as it was, that would be dangerous, so we went through with a debeaking procedure. Perfectly safe, I promise.” Oh, okay, Gordon supposed that made sense. He trusted these two old men to a point.

“Also, is it named Susan?” He had to ask.

“Yep!” No further explanation for that one. He approached the headcrab named Susan carefully, resisting the urge to start talking to it like he often does his Peeper Puppies. It acknowledges him with a small sound, weird to hear that in a different context, but makes no further move. He touches it’s ‘head’ part, where the squishy part was, and it’s smooth and soft, like the inside of someone’s arm. It still does not move. 

“Damn,” he says, impressed at it’s change of heart. This would be less of a nightmare than he thought. Somewhere in his interaction, Bubby had stood up and picked Susan up, shoving it into Gordon’s arms. He took it, not un-apprehensively, and it felt heavy and shock-still in his arms.

“You best get home, Gordon, we have, uh, golf to watch.” Gordon makes a face. What a fucking lie, but they seemed to want their privacy. Considering Bubby’s current mood, he thought it was fair, and he went home to introduce Susan to it’s new home.

Okay, not a nightmare, per say, but maybe a bad dream. He entered his own house, Peeper Puppies at his feet, skittering a bit and cooing, and he went to put them in another room for a bit, like you do when introducing an average pet. He put down Susan carefully on the floor. It took one step, two, and then jumped across the living room, into the kitchen, gaining impressive air and landing on top of a cupboard and scattering boxes of cereal and oatmeal. Gordon’s heart pounded in his chest and he ducked from surprise, but the thing just skittered about up there, exploring a new space. Okay. It liked to be tall, is what he was getting from this. He could deal. Susan stayed up there, like it was watching him and looking around the house as he dutifully cleared breakable things from the higher surfaces, creating a limbo of not being able to put things low down for his Houndeye pack, and also not high up for Susan.

He would keep an eye on the headcrab in the next day, waiting for it to go into some kind of sleep, he thinks, before going out to the store. He’d received a text from Bubby (but who knows which member of that household was using which phone when) that Susan had enjoyed chilling on and eating a watermelon, so he grabbed one he hoped was appropriate size. He realized this was the first time he had been nervous about having to leave those aliens alone at home, which gave him a weird sort of comfort.

He spent an inordinate amount of time lugging around a whole watermelon on top of his groceries, around loud-ass crowded stores, and got home ready to award himself a long rest, which he would have done without hauling the large berry. He noted where his pets were, and took his time putting things away, before collapsing bonelessly on the couch, relishing in the soft give of it. He heard a skitter, and a whump as his new headcrab found the back cushions of the couch, almost parroting his own enjoyment of the softness. The leap and impact only scared him a little this time. Susan gently puts it’s front claws over his shoulder, warbling very quietly. Gordon made an effort to relax, and soon forgot it was there past the weird small warmth.

Yeah, he thought with satisfaction, he was pretty sure he was ready for anything thrown at him.

_____________

Benrey had pretty much nothing. Almost nothing, like he had...skin still. At least. Furthermore, by some sort of mystery, between some period of time where he couldn't recall anything, he appeared on Earth. On top of that, he was in New Mexico, the state which he knew the best. How?

The blank part of his history had him rattled, and all he could think to do was reach out to something familiar. It wasn't that big a gap, he knew Black Mesa wouldn't be exactly the same, some shit had happened, he remembered that much, but when he found where he was pretty sure the place was, it seemed kinda… way too flat. Mesa implies that there is a large hill that inclines suddenly, and the Black part was built upon it, perched up there like an asshole. The scenery that lay around it seemed the same, but it was fucking gone. Hardly even debris.

It's not like Benrey had any particular good feelings towards Black Mesa, it was just a random destination, one he used to wiggle stealthily into fitting in with humans, but it's absence made him face the problem of having nothing to do and nowhere to go, and he didn't know if he'd have the same luck elsewhere. So he walked. He just walked aimlessly, not even sure if he was going in a single direction. The sun went down and the moon went up, once, twice, he lost count, the environment seemed to tile and blend together and most of all, it was painfully boring. His mind numbed, his presence in space started to feel a little fuzzy, only his feet moved. What was he doing?

He almost jumped out of his skin, his only possession, when he realized he was being talked to. His hackles didn't even fall when he saw a Vortigaunt looking at him with it's big, beautiful eye. In Benrey's experience, one meant more, and they would swipe with their surprisingly long reach. There was no sign of that, though, this was different. The Vortigaunt was speaking to him. "Huh?" How much did he miss?

"You are a long way from your kind, lost are we?"

"Whuh? What kind?" The Vort's hands linked together like a gesture of patience. Benrey had never heard a Vortigaunt speak english before, it sounded vaguely like a frog, and drew out some of the vowels sometimes.

"The kind that spread so far in this world, and share the same features as you, human." Benrey felt almost offended, in that way you do when someone makes an assumption about you, unkind or not.

"I'm... not human," he says, like it was obvious. The Vort's eyes lit up.

"Like us, then, you are one between worlds? I hear of a place on this land where those of us converge, a place of peace and prosper."

Benrey could barely comprehend what the hell that meant, but it sounded like he wanted to go. "Where?" The Vortigaunt looked around.

"Come, Strange One," and it set off in one direction. Benrey followed, the unlikely pair picked their way through the emptiness of New Mexico, more walking, but Benrey had to pay attention to where he was going, now, and caught every word of the Vortigaunt's idle strolling talk. The landscape began to fill out, an abandoned tent, a dingy house with evidence of human life cluttered around it, roads, and Benrey's companion stopped. The sun, sinking, painted the sky orange and faded into blues, now he was paying attention to it all, and he turned around to meet eyes with the halted Vort. "This is where I stop, but you carry on," he said.

Benrey blinked, "Carry on...how?"

"Let your feet follow the sun, you will find this place." God, he hoped this wasn't another profound sentence-puzzle, he wanted to just do something other than walking. He wanted a destination.

"'nd what about when the sun goes down?" 

The vort titled it's head, "Then keep the moon at your back, Strange One," Benrey nodded, facing back to the sun. He could do that.

Focusing on the sun gave him something to do as he was walking, and as twilight greeted him, he spent every couple moments glancing up at the moon, a body more bearable to look at, hung over his shoulder. He could hear the crickets and distant rush of cars, his own scuffing footsteps, even cats fighting somewhere he couldn’t see. He blended in with this place, already distracted and filled with life.

The sky was orange once again when he realized he was close. He couldn’t know for sure, but in place of the regular background sound effects of the fauna of earth, he heard the cries of Peeper Puppies. Happy or curious sounds of a pack, and wait, he probably banged out a year's worth of step goals in these couple days, and this didn't even seem that hard to get to? Maybe he should have followed celestial bodies all along.

On the horizon, he saw Gordon Freeman.

The human had taken such a long vacation from his thoughts, it hit them again like a freight train, and something small and invisible that showed up after he died woke up and started clawing at his insides. It was almost typical. For Benrey to be offered a place and have it taken up by someone who wouldn’t let him. He stood there momentarily, mouth hanging open, heat of the sun pounding into his head, before going to turn around. New plan, he’d find a Dunkin’ to steal from and--

Little did he know, Gordon had seen him back, and let loose the dogs of war. His thought process was interrupted as they were surrounding him, yipping and vwypping at his legs and impeding his progress. His name was being called from a distance, too, bellowed across a field from one of the loudest people he’s ever met, and filled with vitriol. He usually wouldn’t run, but… One stride, two, picking up speed, then he was flat on his face, sliding a little across the dirt. The alien dogs were at his side instantly, from their previous spot tripping him, mocking him with sounds right in his ground-level face. It almost sounded like laughter. No, that was actual laughter. Gordon was behind him, and when he turned to look, he was bent in two, laughing at his fumble, his shit eating. Benrey was sure he’d never heard him laugh that hard without exasperation or stress. He huffed a little, and got up to keep walking, but Feetman was already caught up to him with a jog. He was still letting out little chuckles like hiccups. “You--” he took a moment to compose himself. “What the fuck are you doing here?” That thing clawed harder.

He shrugged, and said “Some Vort told me to go here I’unno what to tell you. You got a licence to--” common sense stopped him there, shutting his own ass mouth. A Peeper Puppy was pawing at him curiously.

“You look like shit, Benrey.” Gordon observed, ignoring that comment and sobered from his amusement now.

“Thanks bro,” and he was about to make another half-hearted attempt to leave, when the human man sighed, and rubbed his hand under his glasses.

What he said next was not what he expected at all. “You wanna come inside?” There was an edge to his voice, like he was chiding himself for considering it, and Benrey hesitated only briefly before snapping at that chance as if he were a vampire.

Though it was a little awkward, stepping into Gordon’s house. He hovered close to the front door, seeing the man breeze comfortably through his own home, the Xen creatures doing the same at much higher velocity. He was trying not to ask about them, something about the awkwardness. It was like saying, ‘Tell me your whole life story after the last time I saw you and ended my life (temporarily).’ Which, yep, it sounded pretty bad to him. That slipped his mind as he was handed a slippery bottle of water and it was cool and heavy in his hands, he fumbled to open and chug it all, the cold water burning and feeling like bliss. No more sun, either, pinning all that heat on him, no more moving feet, or legs with an ache that wasn't really there. It felt like relief.

It also felt a little fragile, knowing what he did about Gordon’s opinion of him. He waited for the time limit of his invitation to end, to snap abruptly, but instead he was told to sleep on a couch, with a, again, Xen creature hanging out in the same room as if he’d bonded with a friend’s dog and it chose him over its owner for the night, but more buck wild.

Then in the morning, the room picking up light like a good book, he was tossed some old-looking clothes and ordered to go wash up. As that day came and went too, he realized the invitation might not be as short as he thought. He still didn’t say much those first couple days, what could he say? That strange clawing thing said to him, Is this really okay? But in the end what could he do, Feetman was a natural leader, charming. How could he not just follow him?

Eventually, he built up the nerve to ask, disguising it as casual. Benrey was relieved when the story was light-hearted, fond, about Bumper at the side of the road, and his follow-up friend, and the rest. The adventure with the headcrabs, hearing about Tommy, Bubby, Coomer again. He’d ask about them after, but clearly Gordon had made this weird sanctuary and filled it with misplaced aliens, and he realized, oh. Him too, in a way. That thought twisted inside him, the weird half-sting of being pitied, and small amusement about just, who Gordon was as a whole. He gets attacked by bloodthirsty otherworldly invaders one moment, and helps them when they need help the next. Ouch.

That thing in him settled a bit, about his time limit after that, just reveled in the feeling of having a place to stay, things to do. “As long as you help around here,” Gordon would say jokingly, and sent him on tasks, easy ones that required no supervision. Closeness and cohabitation had them both learning, though, and soon Benrey was doing even more everyday, wrangling those unconventional pets, cleaning, doing whatever he saw. His lackadaisical nature hid the truth of his endless energy, and he had never done as much. But that was for Black Mesa. He wouldn't have put in effort for them, but he was doing it for Gordon. He definitely could do it for Gordon. He shook his head, accidentally spraying water from the hose on his shoe. Those kinds of thoughts would get him in a different trouble.

A few days later, Tommy Coolatta pulled up in his truck, greeting them both so warmly, giving Benrey a big, long, unabashed hug. Then, he opened the bed of his truck and allowed another Peeper Puppy to jump off, excitedly pronouncing, “Look! I, I named it ‘Sprite Tropical Berry’ like the...the exclusive flavor at McDonald’s! And…” He reached over the side of the truck, tall enough to easily see inside, gently handling an armful of a weird frog looking thing. “Darnold found this on a hike! It was in part of the documents.” He plopped it into Benrey’s arms. It looked at him with a single weird and colourful eye. He looked back with his two weird eyes. They remained locked in each other’s gazes. Meanwhile, the other two were talking, Gordon shaking his head lightheartedly, hands on his hips. He was way too distracted by this new addition but they seemed to be making plans.

The plan was to raise a barn, or shed whatever. And they did so without a hitch for once, the whole Science Team hands on, using the aftermath as an excuse to celebrate in the dusk around a firepit, the smell of fresh plywood and woodsmoke blending together. Benrey wasn't part of the team in a semantics kind of way, but they didn't reject him for a second, now. He still teased, indulged in his non-sequiturs, Gordon still mentally malfunctioning with some of them, and others sent the team into a debate with just a comment. It was more light-hearted, and the two older men of the group were always good at diffusion.

He had a name, or more of a concept for that clawing thing within him, now, too. After many hours spent staring at the dark ceiling, and many embarrassing searches through the internet. It was a myriad of emotions, the type you could drown in, guilt, grief for what may or may not have been, small amounts of spite and fear, a reaction for everything that happened, for things he did. He was glad he was distracted enough to not let all that shit eat him inside out, upon first meeting Gordon again, and had latent realization of what it all meant, and now an understanding that it was okay. They weren’t good, but they were here to protect himself and those around him, and he allowed them to come and go. They were there to protect him from hurting anyone anymore, especially now he had this...little weird family, this newfound comfort and companionship.

Never left his mind how good he had it. He was probably the most content alien resident on this planet.

"Incoming!" Gordon said as Benrey stepped through the gate, that and the creature affectionately nicknamed 'Berry' were another new addition to the property, and in his musing the reason for the call dashed past his legs in an attempt to escape. He was already after it, making quick work of scooping the Peeper puppy up. Two long legs were better than three stubby cute ones.

"Yeehaw." Benrey said, casually strolling up with the roadied Houndeye struggling under an arm, squeaking quietly. The thing was put down with it's friends and it ran towards the group, no more attempt to dash away. The most calm and level yeehaw made Gordon let out a small amused snort. The pack of pup's confidence was a blessing and a curse--they were happy, which is what anyone would wish upon a living creature, but they became little 3 legged pranksters, too. See: that very helpful fumble upon Gordon and Benrey's reunion. The pack wove between both pairs of human legs, beeping and yipping and trying so hard to get stepped on. Benrey takes a single reckless step and trips over one, again, and Gordon reaches out for him on instinct, bearing the weight of the person-shaped alien The man didn’t account for the back of his leg to hit a solid Houndeye, however, and then they were tipping over with domino force. His turn to eat shit. It almost seemed clever, an organized prank made by a group of hyperactive foreign fauna, managing a timing-perfect plan to trip them both, and where did they learn that? The details would matter later, Gordon was more worried about his probably bruised elbow and Benrey--on him, a millimeter between their faces, looking way too shocked for the situation.

“This seems. Gay,” Benrey said, the look on his face not leaking into his voice, and Gordon raised an eyebrow, unamused and about to tell him to get the hell off. The barely noticed half second flick of his eyes down to Gordon’s lips gave him pause, made his mouth go dry... “Can I make it gayer?” Benrey continued. A beat. Gordon would like that, actually.

They kissed.

In some surprising turn of events, this was how they fit together. Legs tangled, sprawled from falling over in the dirt, Gordon’s hand sneaking up to cradle the back of the other’s head. Seeing stars behind their eyelids from the electric rightness of the moment, the pounding of both their hearts. Not enemies, not estranged almost-friends, not a sour note on a bad memory, or just a friend who’s taunting you barely tolerated. It was this. Took them both by surprise, as Gordon had to back up for air, they blinked at each other, no words or even thoughts between them. They came back to themselves, and Gordon broke into a smile, giddy, and his hand moved down to cup Benrey's face. He leaned into it, still looking vaguely deer in the headlights, mumbling, "Gordon…?"

"Benrey," he said back, softly, knowingly.

The moment stretched on, but they got up from the dirt eventually, they herded the Houndeye pack inside, brushed filth off their clothes. That atmosphere never really left them completely.

So, they talked. They talked about everything they knew laid bare between them, even some things one or the other didn't. They would talk for hours that day, about them as a them, now, but also things light-hearted and not, big and small. They would talk until Gordon slumped further against Benrey's shoulder, a victim succumbed to sleep. Both with a new seed planted in their heart, one that made something big and exciting bloom, but washed them with a calm comfort all the same. And they would inch closer, each day, after that, realigning themselves in this new light, hands finding other hands to tangle with, or hair, or shoulders or face, kisses pressed sweetly as a thank you or as anything, curling up a little closer together in bed. Their distance became nothing with time, creating a better sort of mundane. Benrey retracted that previous idle thought. It could get better, it did.

Gordon woke up with the sun, the bastard, and Benrey, light sleeper, woke up with him by proxy. He probably didn't even need to sleep, but just after opening his eyes all he felt was the pull of that haze of more sleep and he wanted to give in. It never lasted, a few moments of bearing the voyeuristic sun on their sheets, and looking at Gordon Freeman's tired, scrunched up waking face, the thrall was gone. Benrey felt awake just from that funny little twist in his chest he got from looking at his human. Gordon stretched, sitting up slowly and Benrey followed his urge to trace the lines on his back, not even flinching at the mushy feelings continuing to bubble inside him. I mean, nowadays, why not indulge in a little tenderness?


End file.
